You wanna know how I got these scars?
by tess-darkstone
Summary: The Joker escapes from Arkham, post-TDK - and starts telling people just where those scars come from. Again. And again. And again. The story of the Joker, only told through his scars :
1. Chapter 1

Ok…Basically, this is your bog-standard joker-escape story, but told only as he tells people how he got his scars

Ok…Basically, this is your bog-standard joker-escape story, but told only as he tells people how he got his scars. Will include…Oh, let's see. HarleyXJoker (but not much), Catwoman, a REALLY bad situation for Batman…involving Harley. And also the possible end of the Joker…cry.

The chapters will be short – that may please you, it may not. Oh well.

I don't own Batman or any of it sob. I really want a Batmobile, y'know :)

* * *

The Joker looked lazily at his newest psychoanalyst. She looked back, feeling her heart thud a little faster. She'd _asked _him all the usual questions, done all the tests, used all the tricks, and still all she had in her notebook was the word 'insane' underlined twice.

Her patient sighed, bored, and leaned forward, as if he was going to tell her a secret.

"So…" he paused, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips. "…d'you want to know how I got these scars?"

"They all say I'm, ah, an orphan? Well, they got that right. My uncle, uh…_took care _of me as a boy. He was a psychiatrist, see, specialising in…depression.

Now, a tough job like that can mean a guy needs a lot of…liquid comfort, and so my dear uncle comes home one night barely able to walk.

"Why so serious?" he asks me. He comes at me with his bottle. "I'm so sick of seeing faces like yours. Why doesn't anyone ever _smile_?"

He smashes the bottle against a worktop, steps towards me and…"


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed :)

* * *

"You want to know how I got these scars?"

The guard shivered as a razorblade numbed his cheek. He wanted to yell – but that would, really, entail cutting open his own face on the clown's razor. So he let the other man speak.

"My brother was…not quite right in the head. Still, we used to spend a lot of time together – that is, until the school bully picked up on his, ah…_unusual _behaviour. Picking on a kid who was already screwed up was _against the rules_, so I took the fall.

Now, one day my _brother _finds a few of the boys laying into me in a back alley, and he goes just cra-zy over it. He pulls out a knife and, screaming, takes them out. One. By. One.

Now he comes at me, smiling. Grinning.

I just wanted them to get him, not me. I just wanted him to _die_. But of course, he didn't know that.

"Why so serious?" he asks. "I just saved ya. Why don't you show a little…gratitude? Just a smile will do."

All this time he's coming closer and closer, until his knife is in my face…in my mouth.

"Just a smile will do." he says, violently this time. He presses the knife against my mouth just a little harder and…"

The guard screamed and fell unconscious, face suddenly a mess of blood. The Joker giggled a little, and skipped over the body, straight out of Arkham Asylum.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan Crane looked into the Joker's face, and realised he was scared. Fear had always fascinated him, but at that point in time, he didn't care remotely about his synapses or electrochemical imbalances, or his pounding heart, dry throat and sweating hands. No, he cared about the knife that was drawing a thin line of blood out on his throat. Just a little more pressure was all it would take…He tried to keep himself still.

"So, I hear you've been having a, uh, a great time in my…ab-sence. Now that's not polite, is it? When we know so little about each other, too. So…"

The Joker licked his lips and whispered into the Scarecrow's ear,

"You want to know how I got these scars?"

"Where I grew up, there were gangs, and we're not talking about our, uh, little…mobsters and drug runners, no, no. I'm talking gangs of psychos and freaks – like me – who are in it for the _kicks _and nothing else.

Now my gang, we used to carve people's faces. Just to show where we'd been. And one day, another gang's, uh, leader ends up with my knife in his mouth.

When I'm done they're all after me and the town is just going cra-zy, all of them trying to find little…old…me. And they know who I am, they know my face.

So, one night, I take the knife and carve myself a nice…smile. Now no-one recognises me. Now I can get out. I collapse in a gutter, and get out of town in an ambulance, to a hospital miles away, where I stitch up my face…and run."

* * *

Next time, I'm going to kill off a bank manager.

"I'm crazy enough to take on Batman, but the IRS?! No-o thank-you!"

The IRS being the tax people, I think...I love animated Batman :)

MWAHAHAHA.


	4. Chapter 4

The manager of Gotham Bank moaned in terror as the Joker's men pulled his family out of the house – his wife, his pale teenage son, his pink-clad twins…

The manager of Gotham Bank moaned in terror as the Joker's men pulled his family out of the house – his wife, his pale teenage son, his pink-clad twins…

"You wanna know how I got these scars?" the clown said conversationally.

His kids were staring. The girls were crying – including his wife – and his son was silent, shocked – and as pale as death. He sobbed and tried to writhe away, but a knife suddenly bit softly, almost caressingly, into his face. Just enough to keep him still. The Joker began to talk.

"So my father is a fisherman, and he's always to persuade his dearest sonny boy to come on a lit-tle trip with him. What he doesn't know is that sonny boy is scared of the water, that deep, cold, darkness, only feet away…

But, much as I try, one day the excuses run out and he gets me into that boat. The weather's rough, and a frightened kid doesn't sit still. The next thing, I've fallen out. And...down.

Now, my father panics. He reaches over and scrabbles for me, pulling me onto the boat – straight on top of the bucket where he keeps the fish hooks. The bucket tips, and suddenly we're sitting in a boat just full of knives and wire…and these hooks. I sit up, and he takes hold of the one hook he sees, stuck in the corner of my mouth. He takes hold and tries to yank it out – and…"

The pale teenage son was the only one who didn't scream as his father fell to the floor. Lifeless.


	5. Chapter 5

HI

I get no reviews :(

Ah well.

* * *

The Joker strolled into the bank. His boys had taken care of the guards, the police, etc.

He shot a passing secretary, before turning to a control pad on the wall. He typed in the correct code, licking his lips. Useful, these bank managers. Always told you with the least encouragement…

The door hissed open – inside, a guard straightened up. The Joker pressed his gun to the boy's head – knives were better, but needs must…

"Ri-ight, we're, uh, just _relocating _the money you're keeping in that _safe_…Most wouldn't think that a – ah – a _guard_ would know how to open the safe, but I know different."

The guard nodded dumbly.

"Go-od boy. Do you want to know how I got these _scars_?"

As the guard began to open the safe, the Joker began to talk.

"Now, when I was at uni-versi-ty I got into a, uh, fight with one of the big boys. And I beat him. Now, he didn't like that, es-pe-ci-all-y when I laughed at him after.

So, that night, he comes to my room with a few of his friends.

"You always _laugh_." he says to me. He takes out a knife. "No-one's got a choice whether to be laughed at or not."

He gets his boys to hold me down.

"Now _you're _not gonna have a choice." he says. He puts the knife in my mouth, and…"

Shooting the guard in the head, the Joker walked into the safe.

* * *

Oh...And next time, we shall have Catwoman - she is a burglar, after all :)

Woot.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

The Joker could almost have been surprised when he saw the black-clad figure ahead of him, bent over the diamonds (which were "secretly" kept in the bank vault). But surprise is something of a weakness when you preach chaos – so…

He was freakishly strong for someone so thin. Pretty soon, the figure was writhing in his arms, trapped.

"Let…me…GO!"  
"No, no, let's, ah, let's not let the cat out of the bag…"

"That's _pathetic_!"

"Perhaps. You wanna know how I got these scars?"

The woman continued to writhe, but froze as he flicked out a knife.

"Good girl. Now, I used have all the problems a kid could poss-ib-ly want. Picked on at school, one abusive parent, one alcoholic, neglectful parent, self-harm, drugs – anything else you could _think_ of. And one day it all gets too much.

So I take some cable – 'cause I had nothing else – and make a noose. Putting it round my neck, I jump from a bridge.

But that cable is weak. The noose slips, and tightens round my face rather than my neck, leaving me with _this_, and then it breaks. I'm thrown into the river, laughing all the while."

He pressed the knife a little harder into the woman's neck.

"Let's see who's under that _mask_."

He slit open the fabric, leaving a scratch along the woman's face – a face he recognised.

Giggling, he gestured her away. Selina Kyle – one of Gotham's socialites, right up there with Wayne and his lot – ran from the bank, still dressed as Catwoman.

So obviously, the rich _did _play dressing up – which meant…

The Joker had suspected Bruce Wayne for a long time. The man had money, time, was rarely seen before three in the afternoon…

Obvious, really.

Maybe he ought to find out where Wayne was.

Pay him a visit.

* * *

Next, we have Btman vs the Joker :) Fun.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Last chapter :) Thanks to everyone who's reviewed...

* * *

They were in some party, one of Bruce Wayne's fundraiser's – he remembers the last time, when Wayne's little girlfriend had stood there so…_bravely_. He giggles. Back then he didn't know who Wayne really was. It was so funny to think no-one had noticed that the playboy spent his nights dressed in black rubber, hanging out in the seedy parts of Gotham.

Well, the more retiring millionaires tended to do that – he snickered – but Wayne?

One of the guests steps forward, trying to confront him, and he grabs her, twisting her round and pressing his knife to her throat.

"You want to know how – hey – you want to know how I got these scars?"

He sees Wayne slip out. Clearly a fight with the Bat is in order. He starts to talk – quickly.

"Now, I used to live with my, uh, cousin. My cousin, who is such…fun. Who is always up for everything. Who always was…a little…out of it. Who sells his drugs on dens and whorehouses and street corners all over the place. One day he sends me out with a whole pile of crack to give to some of his…ah…_customers_. But he was off his head when he sent me, and it was the _brown _and not the white powder they wanted. As a thank you for _his _screw-up they slice my face. Then they set me back on my bike, to him.

Now he's scared, because they'll do the same to him, and without a word, he packs and leaves. Suddenly, I'm _alone_ in the big city at night…"

The girl has fallen silent. The whole room is tense. The low, growling voice is like thunder when _he_ speaks.

"Let her go, Joker."

"I seem to rem-em-ber that you said that…last time."

Batman snarls, and launches himself at the clown, who laughs.

The room is filled with one noise – the Joker's hysterical laughter as Batman stabs, punches, _crushes_ him. No-one else dares to speak.

Batman brings his leg back for yet another kick, lashes out – and screams in pain. A knife hilt protrudes from his ankle. In a flicker, the Joker is up, one hand round the bat's neck, gripping his mask, the other with a knife at his throat.

"That, bats, is what happens when you kick someone else's knife. Now, I've been just _dying _to tell you. Do you want to know…how I got these scars?"

"So I was begging on a street corner in Gotham in midwinter, and I decide to go look at the, uh, the _rich _people, watching their plays and operas in the theatrical bit of the city.

Now, there's a family coming out early from one of the, ah, plays…and one of the robbers steps forwards, gun out. I hide. I recognise the family – everyone would – and I know that there'll be blood, maybe a shooting – maybe a few coins dropped in the _gutter_ to stop me starv-ing.

They fight, and I can tell that the family don't have a chance. They're too…just too rich! I hear a couple of, uh, gunshots, and look round to see they have a kid my age. He's snivelling, a mini version of his dead daddy. I walk off, without him seeing me, straight into the guy who shot his parents

"You're not gonna tell?" he says. He's put the gun away, but he pulls out a knife. "You're not gonna tell?"  
I shake my head, but he, no, he isn't convinced.

"You're not gonna tell." he says, and this time it isn't a question. He knocks me round the head, and I wake up with _this _on my face.

So, you see, you and me-" he pauses and looks around the room, licking his lips. "We're the same. We come from the same place…_Bruce._"

A few of the guests gasp. The Joker smirks. He knew he wouldn't escape this one – and he giggles as the Batman, in one last fit of rage, hurls him through the window that Rachel Dawes once shattered.

()

Commissioner Gordon put his head in his hands, worrying, worrying. At least his family was safe.

The police had cleared everything up. The Joker was gone, locked in a mortuary, all the makeup and blood and grime cleaned away so they could find out who he was.

All of Bruce Wayne's property was still his – he could bribe the judges and get the best lawyers…once he was out of Arkham, of course. All those mental struggles had…taken their toll. No-one told him that he was in cell 476 – the one recently vacated by the Joker.

Selina Kyle sighed, and threw her outfit into the fire. Catwoman…No, she'd have to find something else to do. Her pet cats purred around her feet as her old mask burned.

In Arkham, a new, young-looking psychiatrist began to organise Bruce Wayne's – or Batman's - file. She let a tear run down her face, but dashed it away. It _really_ wouldn't do to let everyone know just how obsessed she had been with her old patient.

Pulling up her sleeve, Dr. Quinzel ran her fingers over a rough 'J'-shaped scar. Yes, working with the Joker had been tough, but there was something about him…He had shown her so much.

That was another thing – he had shown her the darker, no, the _darkest_ side of Gotham. She pulled a knife out of her pocket, eyed it, put it back in again. Batman had killed the Joker, _her_ Joker. Bruce Wayne was Batman.

"Harley?"

"Mm?"

"Wayne'll see you now. He should be okay, not too psychotic…"

"Yeah…"

Inside the cell, Harley Quinn felt anger welling up as she eyed Bruce Wayne's face. She rolled up her sleeves, showing all the scars the Joker had ever given her.

Wayne stared at her – his eyes widened comically as she pulled out the knife.

"So, Mister B – You want to know just _how_ I got these scars?"

* * *

There we are...I couldn't resist putting Harley in there, she's my favourite.

The end :)

P.S. Please review...


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